Buried Alive
by hellogoodbye57
Summary: What if Booth had been buried by the Gravedigger with Brennan instead of Hodgins? Definite BB. I have a sequel if people seem to like this one.


Temperance Brennan awoke feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Since she seemed to be in a sitting position, she assumed that she must have fallen asleep in her office again. But that could not be right; the darkness which pressed around her was too complete. The two large windows in her office always permitted the entrance of some light; even at night, the glow from the streetlights washed over everything in her office, casting mysterious shadows. And the smell was also different. Her office smelled of formaldehyde and cleaning supplies, two scents that mixed to create a rather unpleasant but nevertheless familiar scent. However, the scent which currently surrounded her was unfamiliar; it was a dank, musty smell with a hint of decay and something else which, though familiar, eluded Brennan's identification.

Still slightly groggy, Brennan started to sit up before realizing that something was restraining her. Reaching down, she discovered a seatbelt buckle and pressed the button to release it. She was obviously in a car, but she had no idea where the car was. As she struggled to remember anything which could help her identify her location, Brennan's head began to pound, and she raised her hand to massage her temple. Her free hand began to move over the side of the car, searching for a door handle, but she stopped suddenly before reaching it. She felt rather than saw another presence in the car, and the slight rustling of fabric confirmed her suspicions. Brennan's breathing grew more rapid as she wondered who the car's second occupant could be. Although it had not yet been hostile, it could still pose a threat. She had learned the hard way that it was best to be prepared for any eventuality, and she could not let her guard down, even for a second, or she risked losing her life.

"Bones," the other person muttered in a voice so low that Brennan was only able to hear it because of the silence in the car. Immediately, she relaxed, recognizing the voice and the name. Only one person called her that.

"Booth, I'm here," she said, shifting slightly in her seat so that she could peer in the direction from which his voice had emanated. Unfortunately, the darkness remained impenetrable, and she could not even make out a vague outline of his body. She did, however, discover the identity of the mystery scent. As soon as she had heard his voice, she had realized that the undefined scent which lingered in the air was his. Booth had his own smell, a mixture of his cologne and soap and something else that made it distinctly his. The scent had become as familiar to Brennan as her own; after all, Booth was her partner, and they worked together every day. She told herself that it was only natural that she should recognize his scent and find comfort in the normalcy of it. People tended toward the things to which they were accustomed.

"Where are we?" Booth questioned. His speech was slurred as if he had been drinking.

"I'm not exactly sure. I believe we're in a car of some sort." For some inexplicable reason, Brennan had felt safe as soon as she heard his voice. She could not die now because he was there. She knew such a thought was irrational, but she could not help but think that he was capable of anything, of rescuing her from any situation. Since she had always prided herself on her rationality, these new beliefs scared her, but she could not help what she felt.

"A car? Why?" Booth still seemed dazed.

"I don't know."

"Oh." Brennan heard him shift positions. A loud thump followed by an even louder curse told her that he had hit something.

"Are you okay?" she asked, reaching for him. Her hand found his arm, but he shook her off.

"I'm fine. There's a flashlight in the glove compartment." Brennan began to grope the air in font of her, searching for the glove compartment. When her fingers touched the underside of the dashboard, she slid them over its surface for a moment before finding a slight depression. Grabbing the handle, she pulled, and the latch released with a click. The glove compartment fell open in front of her, and she felt something hit her leg as it slid out. She dug blindly through the contents, finally feeling a smooth, round object. Assuming this was the flashlight, she pulled it from the compartment and fumbled with it for a moment before discovering the switch. When she flipped it up, the bulb illuminated, and she was momentarily blinded by the sudden light.

After a few seconds, her pupils shrunk and the spots disappeared from her vision. She looked over to Booth who was blinking furiously to clear his vision. A quick glance at her surroundings told Brennan that they were in Booth's car, or rather, the standard, black, FBI-issued SUV that Booth drove. Nothing seemed out of place in the car; the spare gun was sitting innocently on top of the papers in the glove compartment, and the windows were intact. A glance out the window caused Brennan's stomach to drop. "Something wrong, Bone?" he questioned, noticing her sudden pallor. He had always been unusually perceptive, especially when it came to Brennan's feelings. Many times, he could take a single look at her and immediately assess her mood.

"Have you looked out the windows yet?" Brennan questioned.

"No, it's too dark."

"That's because we're not above ground."

"What?"

"The Gravedigger, Booth. He's buried us." Booth's face paled until it matched Brennan's. They had been working on a case where the killer buried his victims in an enclosed capsule with a limited amount of air. Eventually, his victims would run out of air and would suffocate to death. Since Booth was an FBI agent and Brennan a forensic anthropologist, they had seen their share of grisly cases, but the Gravedigger case had been particularly grotesque. Brennan could not even imagine the pure terror his victims must have experienced when finding themselves buried alive, the torture they underwent while waiting to die. Although she would be able to imagine it soon enough. She would be living it.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Booth questioned.

"I don't know. It's a bit fuzzy, but I remember walking out to my car to go home. I think I was drugged."

"I think I was knocked out," Booth said, grimacing as he reached to touch the back of his head. When he brought his fingers to his face, they were sticky with blood.

"Turn around. Let me see." Booth did as she asked, and Brennan quickly examined the wound. "It's not too deep, and the bleeding has almost stopped," she announced, adapting the tone she always used when declaring a cause of death for a particular set of remains. It was a strictly business tone that contained no trace of emotion. "But I still want to disinfect it," she announced. Her purse was on the floor beside her feet, and she reached down and grabbed it before searching for the alcohol swabs she always kept for emergencies. After a few moments of digging, she discovered the desired item and tore the wrapper open. When she touched the swab to his head, he flinched at the sudden sting. Quickly, Brennan cleaned his wound as best as she could under the circumstances. Although some of his dark brown hair was still matted with blood, the wound was at least disinfected, and she threw the bloody swab in the cupholder, satisfied. "Any other injuries?" she asked as he turned around. Her eyes did a quick sweep of his figure, taking in his smooth brow, his dark brown eyes, his well-formed lips, and his strong chin. His well-muscled body had attracted the attention of countless women during the time Brennan had known him, including, though she was loath to admit it, herself. Of course, Brennan explained this attraction away as being the simple biological attraction of a woman to a viable male of her species. She saw no reason to read any further into the attraction and would adamantly deny any allegations of her so-called "feelings" for booth. She did not believe in feelings—she believed in science.

Booth was wearing a navy blue suit, his typical work attire. Despite his otherwise professional appearance, his brightly colored tie which displayed some cartoon character Brennan did not recognize indicated that he was still a child at heart. Brennan knew that his socks were likely similarly child-like; he had a habit of wearing gaudy ties, socks, and sometimes even belt buckles with his suits. Currently, his clothes were crumpled, and Brennan noticed a large streak of dirt across the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm fine," Booth assured her as her eyes continued to rove his body.

"That's good." Her brilliant blue eyes met his intense brown ones, and they sat in silence for a few moments.

"What do we do now?" he finally inquired.

"We need to call the lab. See if they can find us."

"Right." He dug through his pocket for a moment but ended up empty-handed. "The bastard took my phone," he said vehemently.

"Mine, too." Brennan sat her purse on the ground and stared our the windshield at the layer of dirt which surrounded them. Booth could tell by looking at her that she was lost in thought. Her deep blue eyes seemed to be concentrating intently on something only she could see, and her brow was furrowed slightly. Her full lips were pressed tightly together, and her graceful hands moved idly, unable to remain still. In Booth's eyes, everything about her was beautiful from her brown, wavy hair to her long, narrow face to her elegantly curved body. However, Booth could never express his feelings about her beauty, for she would likely knock him out on the spot, so he contented himself to observing her when she was not paying attention. Or whenever he _thought_ she was not paying attention. "Booth, what are you looking at?" she questioned

Damn. She was paying attention. Quickly, Booth averted his eyes as his mouth attempted to form an answer. "N-nothing," he stammered. _Smooth, Booth, real believable._

"Uh-huh." She sounded disbelieving but nevertheless allowed his mistake to slide. "We need to find a way out of here, Booth."

"Right." He could not believe that he almost forgot their current predicament. He needed to stop concentrating on Bones and try to find a way to save both their lives. "We could try the horn," he suggested after a couple minutes. "Maybe someone'll hear us and rescue us." Brennan considered his suggestion.

"I don't know how far we are from populated areas," she reasoned. "There might not be anyone around to hear it."

"It's worth a try at least." Shedding his suit jacket, he unknotted his tie and used it to depress the horn. The sudden loud noise was jarring in the quiet that settled, but jarring was, after all, what they were going for. After securing the tie tightly around the horn, he turned back to Brennan. "If that doesn't attract attention, I don't know what will," he said.

"We need to work on getting some more air," Brennan said, beginning to dig through the glove compartment once more.

"There is a way. . ." Booth began as his hand came to rest on the holster at his side. Brennan looked over at him and immediately realized what he was considering.

"No. That's not an option," she said firmly.

"Think about it, Bone. You'd have twice as much air."

"We're either getting out of this together or not at all. I'm not-" she broke of, choosing her next words carefully. "I'm not going to loose you, Booth."

Under different circumstances, Booth would have smiled at that statement. Brennan kept her feelings so tightly contained that he treasured every time she let her guard down, even for a moment. Though these moments had been few and far between, he knew she cared for him even if she would not admit it to herself. "Bones, just-"

"No, Booth. And if you keep insisting, I'm taking your gun."

"You couldn't take my gun."

"Of course I could. I'm trained in three martial arts."

"Fine. Try it."

"What?"

"Try to take my gun." He was smiling now, for they had returned to their comfortable banter. For a moment, he could forget about their current situation, forget that he only had a few hours left to live, and simply enjoy her company.

"Booth, this is ridiculous! We shouldn't be wasting our breath with this silly argument; we need to find a way out of here."

Her exasperation brought reality crashing down once more, and the smile disappeared from Booth's face. He shifted in his seat to survey the car, considering her options. "If I shoot out the windshield, enough dirt might come in to leave a hole so we could climb out," he suggested.

"Or so much dirt could pour in that we could suffocate," Brennan said grimly, still methodically searching through the glove compartment. "Booth, do you have any cologne?"

"I really don't care how you smell, Bones."

"It's not for me. I'm going to try to get us some more air in here."

"And you need cologne for that?"

"Just trust me." Still skeptical, Booth opened the console between their seats and handed her a bottle half-full with cologne. Brennan flipped it over and scanned the components before setting it aside, satisfied. She pulled a camera from her bag and carefully dumped the flash powder in the second empty cupholder. Booth watched, curious, as she poured the remainder of the cologne on top of the powder. The mixture began to bubble immediately, and Brennan tossed the now-empty bottle with the discarded alcohol swab. Seeing Booth's puzzle expression, she explained, "The reaction releases oxygen as a byproduct. It's not much, but it should extend our time somewhat."

"You never cease to amaze me, Bones." They watched the mixture for awhile, both momentarily enthralled by science. When Booth spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. "I never said goodbye to Parker," he said softly.

"Here." Brennan handed him a sheet of paper from the notepad she kept in her purse. "We should write letters to the people we'll miss. Just in case."

"That sounds like a great idea." He accepted the offered paper, and a silence settled over them as they both composed what could easily be the last letter they ever wrote. Booth finished first, and he folded his paper in half and laid it on the dashboard. He watched as Brennan finished her letter, too, and set it beside his. They looked at the two slips of paper for a moment, the only acknowledgment they had made that they might not survive the ordeal. Neither one wanted to consider the possibility that they might never see the light of day again, but it was a logical conclusion given their current predicament. Brennan knew this, but for once, she refused to accept logic. They _would _make it out. Together.

"There's another way to get air," Booth suddenly remarked, drawing his gun.

"Booth!" Brennan called. She reached for his gun, but he fired before she could stop him. The sound was deafening in the small, enclosed space, and Brennan instinctively covered her ears. Booth fired two shots, both into the ground, and Brennan watched him cautiously, wondering if he had gone insane. She had heard of cases where a great deal of stress had caused normally stable people to crack, but she simply could not picture Booth as one of those people. He was too solid, too indestructible for anything to break him. In fact, he was the one constant in Brennan's tortuous life, a fact she would never voice aloud.

The hissing of air helped Brennan to realize that Booth was far from insane; in fact, he was thinking a good deal more rationally than she was. "The tires," she breathed.

"Exactly. You might want to crawl to the back." Brennan did as he asked, and he shot out the tire beneath the floor of the passenger's seat before joining her on the middle seat and shooting out the back two tires. Once he finished, he sunk into the seat next to Brennan with a sigh. "That should give us a little more time at least," he said, sighing.

"I guess."

"You know. I never really imagined dying this way. I always thought I'd be a lot older. I figured I'd just go to sleep one night and simply not wake up the next morning. It would be peaceful and painless."

"I don't want to get that old," Brennan remarked. "I don't want to deal with arthritis and incontinence and all the other problems that come with age. I'd like to pass peacefully before old age sets in."

"If I had to die now, I'm glad I'm with you," Booth said. Although he was not looking at her, he could sense her stiffening beside him. He knew a fierce war was raging in her head between reason and emotion; since reason had always triumphed before, he expected no response to his statement.

"Me, too," she agreed quietly after a short while. Her voice was so soft that Booth thought he had imagined her statement. When he looked over at her, however, he saw that her eyes confirmed what his ears had heard. She seemed a bit frightened, scared that he would tear down the remaining portion of the long-standing walls around her heart. He had already destroyed a larger part of those walls than any other person in her life.

Emboldened by her words, he reached an arm out and gently placed it around her shoulders. She remained rigidly upright for a moment, glancing at him with panic in her eyes. They were dangerously close to crossing the line they had drawn, the line between partners and something more. Booth, however, no longer cared about the invisible line that they had been toeing for months anyway. If these were his last moments, he wanted to thoroughly enjoy this.

Brennan began to relax some time later, unconsciously leaning toward Booth. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, pulling her closer, and her head ended up resting on his shoulder. His head tilted toward her until his cheek was pressed against her hair. Inhaling deeply, he was able to detect the floral scent of her shampoo, and this pleasant smell calmed him further. From their current position, a casual observer would assume that they were two lovers who had stopped to enjoy the sunset. After their initial panic, they were oddly calm and composed.

When Booth first put his arm around her shoulders, warning lights went off in Brennan's head. They should not be sitting so close or touching so intimately. Even his casual arm slung around her shoulders seemed distinctly un-partner-like. Eventually, however, her emotional side began to rise above her strictly logical one. She supposed that she might as well enjoy her last few hours despite what her rational mind said. For once in her life, she was going to let her heart guide her actions.

"Bones?" Booth asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Hmm?" Brennan was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. His hand was making lazy circles on her shoulder, an action that soothed her greatly.

"What's your favorite childhood memory?"

She thought for a second, scooting closer so that she could snuggle into his side. "I was seven, and my dad and my brother were gone, so it was just my mom and I. She told me she was going to teach me my grandmother's secret chocolate chip cookie recipe that had been passed from one generation to the next. We spent all afternoon in the kitchen and mad a huge mess, but we didn't care because we were together. That's the closest I ever felt to my mother."

"I didn't know you cooked, Bones," Booth remarked.

"How do you think I eat?"

Booth shrugged, an action which disturbed Brennan who shifted her weight to become more comfortable. "Take out," he suggested.

"You can't eat take out everyday."

"Frozen dinners work well, too."

"Is that what you eat?"

"Most of the time. I mean, I'm an okay cook, but I'm usually too lazy to expend htat much energy."

"It's not that hard."

"Maybe for you it's not."

"You know, you should come over some time and let me cook you a home-cooked meal." She did not add, "if we make it through this," but both were thinking about this grim possibility once her offer had been made. They were smart enough to know that voicing this statement would not automatically spell their doom, but they nonetheless shied away from it, for not facing the possibility made it slightly less real to them.

"I might do that," Booth said, breaking the uneasy silence.

"Good. So what's your favorite childhood memory?"

"I went skiing for the first time when I was six. It was amazing—pure white snow, nice cabins, beautiful views. I found out I was a natural at skiing, but my brother wasn't. He spent more of that week on his butt; I actually managed to do a black diamond and only fall one. We went back every two or three years after that, and I still go back sometimes. When Parker gets older, I want to take him and teach him."

"I never knew you skied."

"I'm a man of many talents. What about you? Any hidden talents?"

"I can play piano."

"Really?"

"My mother taught me when I was younger. I haven't played in awhile, so I have no idea how good I am now."

"I'd still like to hear you play sometime."

"I'm sure I'm awful."

"I doubt that. You're god at everything you do."

"Not everything. For example, I can't ski."

"Then I'll teach you."

"My brother already tried. It didn't work."

"But that was awhile ago. Just wait. I bet I can teach you."

"You're not allowed to bet. You're-"

"It's an expression, Bones," Booth said in exasperation.

"Oh." They were quiet for a few moments, and Brennan surprisingly moved coser to Booth. Of course, he was not complaining about her sudden affectionate behavior; he had been secretly hoping for it for the entire year and a half of their partnership.

"What made you want to become an anthropologist?" Booth asked.

"I loved science and how it could help me discover different things about the world. Since I also liked history, anthropology seemed interesting. What about you? Why did you join the FBI?"

"After the army, I was lost for a little while. But I still believed in my country; I just thought that there was a better way for me to bring justice. The FBI is that way."

"Ever regret your decision?"

"Never. You?"

"No. I'm happy with my career."

"Good." As they continued to sit together, both began to grow tired, and their breathing became labored. Brennan's scientific mind began to form an explanation for what was happening, but she quickly squashed this thought. She needed to be strong for Booth. And for herself.

Feeling Booth stir beneath her, she looked over at him. He was staring at the ceiling of the car, obviously lost in thought. After about a minute, he crawled forward and reached up, pulling back the plastic cover to expose the small sun roof. Realizing his plan, Brennan began to object. "Booth, I already told you. We don't know how far down we're buried. We could easily suffocate if too much dirt comes in."

"But we have to do something! I'm not just going to sit here waiting to die. It's just not in my nature. And this way, we'll have some control over how fast the dirt comes in. I thought we could move the dirt into the back or front seat to spread it out more evenly. Right now, it's the best chance we've got."

Brennan looked at him for a moment. His jaw was set, and he seemed fiercely determined to carry through with his plan. In the past, he had always protected her, and she had slowly, and sometimes grudgingly, come to trust hm. She saw no reason to stop trusting him now. "Okay," she finally agreed.

"Good. But just in case this doesn't work. . ." Suddenly, he was beside her again, and his arm encircled her shoulders, pulling her close. His lips found hers, hungrily exploring this previously forbidden territory. Throughout their entire partnership, he had wondered what it would be like to be kissing Bones, and he was finally discovering this answer in the best way possible. Feeling her soft lips beneath his was one of the greatest moments in his life, and the emotions which ignited in his body as they kissed were utterly indescribable. Desire and passion coursed through him, and he pressed closer, wanting to feel her body against his. He regretted having waited until what could be his last hours to kiss Dr. Temperance Brennan.

When Brennan first felt Booth's lips on hers, she automatically began to kiss back. Thousands of thoughts vied for prominence in her head; her rational mind continuously reminded her that they were partners and as such had a line that they could not cross. Yet they had just blazed over the line, and Brennan was surprisingly feeling no regrets. For reason could not explain why Booth's lips felt so perfect on her own or why his hand on her shoulder seemed to radiate heat while simultaneously causing her to shiver. And reason could not explain why a kiss with her partner, the one man she had tried valiantly not to develop any attraction to, was the best kiss in her life. In short, reason could not explain Brennan's emotions, so thee emotions soon emerged triumphant, and she eagerly returned the test.

Neither partner knew how long the kiss lasted; they had lost all sense of time. When they finally did pull away, both were breathing heavily. Neither spoke as Booth turned, raising his gun. He fired two shots at the sun roof, and the glass shattered, allowing dirt to begin pouring into the car. Reaching out, Booth closed the plastic cover halfway, significantly decreasing the flow of soil. He kicked the broken glass to the side before beginning to toss dirt into the back using his hands. Brennan soon joined him, and they both worked silently, side by side, each hoping that Booth's solution might save their lives.

After fifteen minutes, the dirt was still pouring in steadily, and both partners were growing frustrated. The back seat was already half full, and they worried that they soon would have to pile the dirt elsewhere. Booth had reopened the panel, knowing that even fitting through an opening as small as the sun roof would be hard; fitting through half the sun roof would be downright impossible. As the dirt continued to pile up, Booth and Brennan still shoveled, hardly daring to hope their plan would work.

In another thirty minutes, they saw the first glimmer of sunlight, and both began to work faster. The dirt now covered part of the front seats, but neither one seemed to care. Their plan was working. A couple minutes later, Brennan was able to switch off the flashlight, for ample sunlight had entered the car. As the stream of dirt slowed until it became no more than a trickle, Booth stopped shoveling and turned to Bones. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked. She nodded, wiping her hands against her skirt. They had not spoken of the kiss they had shared earlier, both afraid of opening that particular can of worms. Eventually, they would have to face reality and confront it, but for a time, they were content to avoid the topic. Brennan tried to rationalize this reluctance by pointing out to herself that they were in a dire situation and had more pressing matters to concern themselves with. But for some inexplicable reason, she could not shake the feeling of Booth's lips on her own.

"I can help give you a boost if you need one," Booth told her.

"I think I can make it on my own," Brennan said, approaching the now-clear opening at a crouch. Once she had positioned herself beneath it, she rose slowly to her feet, reaching to grip the side of the sun roof with her hands. Hoping that it would hold her weight, she began to pull herself out of the vehicle. Once outside, she scrambled quickly up the gentle slope of loose dirt, expecting it to collapse beneath her at any second and sent her tumbling back into the SUV. Fortunately, she managed to crawl onto level ground without incident, and she gratefully breathed in large gulps of fresh air.

A minute or so later, she felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to see Booth on his hands and knees behind her. "We made it," he said with a cough and a smile. Dirt covered his face, darkening his already tanned skin even further.

"I guess we did," Brennan confirmed, standing up shakily. Booth followed her example, surveying the land surrounding them.

"Any idea where to go from here?" he asked.

"None." Brennan glanced out over the barren landscape herself. She saw no signs of civilization surrounding her; even the tracks of the tires from the SUV had faded to blend with the rest of the landscape. All around them was nothing but sand, a bleak tan color that spread as far as Brennan could see in all directions. In some ways, their current situation was little improvement over the one they had recently escaped from. They had simply stepped out of the furnace and into the fire, and Brennan was not sure which was hotter.

"Let's go that way," Booth suggested, pointing. Since the sun was high in the sky and he had no compass, Booth did not even know what direction he was pointing.

"Any reason why?"

"The car's pointing the opposite way. As long as the Gravedigger didn't turn it around, it makes sense that he came from there. Coming?"

"Always." Brennan was not quite sure why she had responded as she did, but the word answered his question, so she decided not to clarify. As they began walking, his hand reached out to touch hers, and her fingers opened automatically, inviting him in. He needed no second bidding; he entwined his fingers with hers, physically linking them together in a way that was simultaneously intimate and casual. Though Brennan had expected to feel awkward when their hands first joined, she had surprised herself by feeling strangely comfortable with the whole situation. And so she kept her hand firmly in his as they walked, enjoying the security of the physical bond.

It took over an hour of walking for them to reach the first manmade object: a narrow, winding road which snaked through the otherwise barren landscape. Although exhausted, Brennan turned and began to follow the road, knowing it offered their best chance for survival. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had not eaten in awhile, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her parched mouth. Booth still clasped her hand tightly in his own, an action that Brennan found strangely natural. Just as it no longer felt odd when Booth guided her with his hand at the small of her back, it now seemed normal for their hands to be clasped together. His hand was warm and safe, a reminder that she was not alone in her situation.

There was no clear path beside the road, and the two partners found themselves stumbling over large rocks and numerous holes. Brennan nearly sprained her ankle as she stepped in one of these holes, and Booth's arms automatically reached out to steady her before she fell. Brennan gave him a brief smile in thanks once she was walking again, and his hand slipped back inside hers as they continued walking. Although both were tired, they were too stubborn to admit this, so they continued to push themselves onward. A couple cars passed but did not stop despite Booth and Brennan's enthusiastic waving. As the roar of an engine announced the presence of a third vehicle, Booth and Brennan turned toward the road. Once more, they began waving their hands above their heads, hoping to attract attention but not really expecting anything to come of their actions. Brennan soon noticed, however, that the red car was slowing down, a fact she announced excitedly to Booth. He simply nodded without lowering his hand.

When the car pulled up beside the two partners, the passenger side window slowly moved down accompanied by the slight hum of motors. The driver was a large, bulky man with short brown hair and a few days' worth of stubble on his lower face. He had a broad forehead with widely spread eyes and eyebrows that nearly grew together in the center. He was the epitome of the person one would never ask for a ride from the long chains hanging out of the pockets of his pants to the metal rod poking through the cartilage of his ear. Both Brennan and Booth, however, were exhausted and ready to accept any offer of help even if it came from someone who looked as if he had recently escaped from jail. Besides, both partners were capable of defending themselves, and Booth still had his gun tucked beneath his shirt.

"Ya'll need a ride?" the man asked with a slight trace of a Southern accent.

"That would be great," Booth said.

"Well, hop on in. Where are ya'll going?"

"Anywhere populated would be nice," Booth said, automatically opening the back car door so Brennan could slide in before seating himself.

"Did ya'll get lost out there?" the man asked, studying the two carefully. Brennan noticed that Booth's appearance was far different than his usual professional profile. He had left his jacket and tie in the car and was wearing only his wrinkled, sweaty dress shirt which had streaks of dirt across it. The top two buttons were open, and the sleeves were pushed up past the elbows as Booth attempted to cool off. His pants were similarly disheveled, and she briefly wondered why the man had stopped. Both partners looked as if they had been through hell and back.

"Our car broke down a few miles back," Booth said, half-truthfully.

"Really? I didn't see any cars."

"We pushed it off to the side," Brennan added.

"So where were you guys headed?"

"Nowhere really. We thought we'd take an unplanned road trip and see where we ended up," Booth lied smoothly.

"So are you two married?"

"No," both chorused quickly.

"We're just partners," Brennan told him.

"_Work _partners," Booth clarified.

"What do ya'll do?"

Brennan opened her mouth to explain their jobs, but Booth spoke first. "We're real estate agents," he said.

"I've heard that makes good money."

"I can't complain."

"I'm Jim Yates, by the way," the man introduced.

"Rick Johnson and Hannah Young," Booth said without hesitation. Brennan was amazed by his ability to lie smoothly, knowing she herself would likely stumble if she tried to use a false name. To Booth, however, the lying seemed to be natural, so natural that she briefly wondered if he had always been truthful with her. After a few seconds, though, she dismissed these doubts, knowing instinctively that Booth would never lie to her. She trusted him completely, even when it came to her own life. In fact, he was the first person she had been able to trust since her parents left.

In another fifteen minutes, they reached a small town, and Booth told Jim to stop outside a motel. The old building was falling apart; the roof sagged dangerously low, and the paint was cracked and peeling. Brennan studied it critically, wondering about the structural integrity of the dilapidated building. Sensing her concerns, Booth said, "We might not have to say. I just need to figure out where we are and talk to the local sheriff so we can arrange a ride home."

"Why'd you lie to Jim?" Brennan questioned.

"Saying I'm an FBI agent leads to questions I don't really feel like answering. I gave him fake names because telling random people who pick us up off the street our real names isn't the smartest idea. Besides, using fake names is fun."

"Fun? I wouldn't consider it fun. It's-"

"I think it's fun, Bones," Booth interrupted before she could begin a lecture. "End of story. Now, come on. Let's go find the sheriff."

"What do you plan on telling him?"

"The truth. That and the badge should get me all the cooperation I need." As they began walking down the narrow sidewalk, Booth's arm casually slipped around Brennan's waist, pulling her to his side. "We're going to have to talk about earlier," he said after a few moments.

"About being buried alive?"

"Actually, I was thinking about what happened right before we escaped." He looked determinedly ahead, fervently praying that she would not push him away for being too presumptuous. He had learned that one had to be careful with Brennan. She did not trust or love easily; she always seemed wary of other people. Booth thought this aversion to attachment stemmed from her parent's abandonment of her and her brother when she was fifteen. Of course, Brennan would dispute this assumption, claiming that psychology was a "soft" science with no basis in fact. Brennan did not believe in anything she could not touch or see, an attitude that led to considerable disagreement between Booth and Brennan, especially over religion.

"What are you talking about?" Brennan asked.

"The kiss," Booth answered, throwing all caution to the wind and deciding to hope for the best.

"Oh, that." Brennan's mind worked furiously, attempting to find a way to discount what she felt. A fierce war raged inside her head. Her rational brain continuously insisted that she could not start a relationship with Booth, for he was her partner. If they were going to continue to be professional, they needed to avoid romantic entanglements, a position the FBI was sure to agree with. Brennan, however, found that her emotional side was actually reasonably prominent for once in her life. She was actually on the verge of telling Booth that she enjoyed the kiss when reason finally overcame emotion. "Well, we were both suffering from a lack of oxygen, so it's only logical that we would do something we normally would not even consider doing. I've heard plenty of cases where people suffering from oxygen deprivation undergo hallucinations or have false visions of grandeur."

"So you think-"

"Isn't that the sheriff's office?" Brennan questioned, interrupting. Before Booth could say anything more, Brennan had turned and entered the station. With a sigh, Booth followed. He knew he should have expected her rational denial that anything had happened. During the year and a half that Booth had known her, she rarely allowed her emotions to show. If they did, she would almost immediately clam up once more and deny that anything had happened. Her explanation of the reasons for the kiss was classic Brennan.

After explaining who they were and some basic details of what had happened to the sheriff, Booth called some agents he knew. He rejoined Brennan a few minutes later on a torn, light blue sofa in the small waiting area. "There should be agents here in six or seven hours. Do you want to go back to that motel and try to get some sleep?"

"You need to go to a hospital. You wouldn't want that head wound becoming infected," Brennan remarked.

"It's fine."

"At least let me look at it."

"I already told you that it's fine."

"Booth, you need-"

"I don't 'need' anything."

Reaching up, Brennan touched the wound, and he cringed involuntarily. "Stay here. I'm going to get bandages." Rising to her feet, she approached a nearby officer and asked for the location of a first aid kit. Without looking up at her, he raised an arm and pointed to a white box on the wall. After retrieving it, she walked back to Booth who had, surprisingly, not moved. He sat on the sofa with his arms crossed defiantly across his chest and a mutinous expression on his face, the perfect imitation of a pouting child. Brennan sat down beside him. "Turn," she commanded.

Grudgingly, he complied, still complaining. "I don't understand why—ow!" What the hell was that for?"

"It was just a bit of alcohol to clean the wound."

"I don't see why cleaning the wound hurts more than getting it," he grumbled as she taped the thick piece of gauze to the wound. "You done yet?" he questioned irritably.

"Yes. You should be fine."

"That's good to hear. Now, I'm going to go back to that motel and try to get some sleep. Coming?"

"Sure. Sleep sounds good right now."

They avoided the topic of the kiss during the walk back to the motel. Once inside their respective rooms, Booth fell asleep almost immediately and slumbered soundly until his phone rang six hours later. For a moment, he fumbled around the nightstand until his fingers finally closed over the annoying noise-maker. "Booth," he answered, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with his free hand.

"Agent Booth, this is Agent Summers. We're outside the motel you described," a clear, emotionless voice stated.

"Okay. I'll be out in five minutes," Booth promised, hanging up the phone and placing it back in his pocket. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he trudged into the small bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he could barely recognize himself. His hair was tousled, lying messily on his head, and his eyes were bloodshot. All in all, it looked as if he had spent the entire night drinking. His suit was wrinkled and soaked with sweat which had caused large streaks of dirt to cling to the expensive fabric.

Deciding he could do nothing about his appearance, Booth left the bathroom, flipping off the lights behind him. Walking to the room beside his, he knocked soundly and was rewarded by a groan. An extremely tired Brennan answered the door a few seconds later, blinking in the sunlight. Booth noticed that despite her disheveled appearance, she was still one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Before he allowed his mind to completely turn from the task at hand, however, he said, "The gang's all here, Bones."

"I don't know what that means," Brennan admitted unabashedly, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.

"It means the other agents are here, so we need to get going."

"Okay, let me grab my shoes."

Even in the car, it took nearly seven hours to find the buried SUV. Since they had been disoriented by heat and dehydration when they had made the trek from the SUV to the road, neither Booth nor Brennan remembered exactly how to reach the SUV. By the time they found it, Brennan was dozing in the back seat with her head resting against Booth's shoulder. Booth was considering emulating her example when Agent Summers inquired, "Is that it, Agent Booth?"

Squinting, Booth could barely make out the outline of a dark hole in the oppressive darkness. "It might be. I can't tell from here."

"I'll drive a bit closer," Summers' partner, who had introduced himself as Agent Peters, announced. As the car approached the hole, Daniel stared out the window, waiting for his vision to come into focus. Finally, he was able to discern the smooth edges of the hole.

"That's it," he announced. As Peters pulled the car in next to the hole and radioed in for excavation equipment, Booth felt Brennan shift positions beside him. Glancing down, he saw that her mouth was partially open, and a small bubble formed on her lip, expanding as she exhaled and contracting as she inhaled. In some ways, this simple bubble made her more beautiful, and Booth found the expanding drop of spittle oddly endearing. Of course, he could never express this admiration to Brennan, for she was likely to punch him. Instead, Booth placed an arm around Brennan's shoulders, and she moved closer, snuggling against his side. Booth smiled; he never would have guessed that Brennan was a cuddler.

"An excavation team should be here soon, Agent Booth," Peters announced. "We've been told to sit tight until then.

"That's fine with me. I've had enough holes for awhile."

"We've got some protein bars and water if you'd like something."

"Actually, water sounds good." Peters passed a bottle of water back to Booth who shifted slightly to retrieve it. As soon as he relaxed back in his seat, Brennan curled against him once more, and he tightened his arm around her shoulders. The car was silent, and Booth began to drift off once more, but he was jarred awake by the noisy approach of a large bulldozer and three more black sedans that Booth guessed were filled with FBI agents. The noise had also awakened Brennan who blinked groggily up at Booth. "Nice to see you're awake, Bones," he told her without removing his arm. Brennan either did not notice or did not care that it remained around her shoulders, for she made no move to shrug it off or increase the distance between them.

"I guess they're going to try and dig up the car," Brennan remarked.

"Actually, they were going to try and build a five-star resort out here," Booth told her sarcastically.

"I'm assuming you're being facetious."

"Well, you know what they say about assuming."

"What?"

"It makes an ass out of you and me."

"That makes no sense."

"Sure it does. Assume. Ass-u-me."

"Oh. That's actually pretty clever."

"I'm glad you approve, Bones."

"Don't call me that," she chastised.

"They'll probably be another couple hours or so getting the car out if you want to take a nap," Booth told her.

"I'm not tired," Brennan insisted.

"Don't lie to me, Bones."

"I'm not lying."

"Fine. Have it your way. But I'm going to try and get some sleep."

Eventually, Brennan did fall asleep. When she awoke, she found that she had shifted during her slumber so that one of her legs was tangled with Booth's, and her arm rested on his chest. Her head lay on his shoulder, and his arm pinned her to his side. From their position, most people would assume they were lovers, for they lay so closet that Brennan could feel warmth of his body and hear the beat of his heart. Immediately, Brennan's instincts kicked in, and she scrambled away from Booth. Groaning, he shifted positions, groping blindly for Brennan. Unsuccessful, he opened his eyes, squinting in the early morning light. "Wha' time is it?" he asked, not bothering to check his watch.

"Six-thirty," Brennan answered, glancing at her own watch.

"We should probably go help," Booth remarked, nodding to the other agents who were swarming around the car. Brennan shrugged in agreement, and they left the car, joining the hunt for evidence.

After two hours, they managed to find a few fingerprints which might have belonged to Booth or Brennan or the killer. In addition, they collected a couple short, blond heirs, a few red fibers, and a cigarette butt. Since the other agents promised to test the evidence for them, Booth and Brennan decided to return home. It had been a long couple days, and both were anxious to return to their own beds and their own food.

Around 6:00 that night, Brennan's phone rang. "Brennan," she answered, pressing it to her ear with her shoulder as she continued to type her latest manuscript.

"He. Feel like getting something to eat?" a familiar voice questioned.

"Sure. Wong Foo's?" Brennan asked as she began to shut down her computer.

"Actually, I'm in the mood for pizza. There's a good place a few blocks from your apartment. Sound good?"

"That sounds fine."

"Great. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

Exactly ten minutes later, Brennan's doorbell rang, and she quickly grabbed her coat and joined Booth as they walked down to his car. As always, his hand moved to her lower back, guiding her. When they reached the car, he opened her door for her, and she rolled her eyes at his misplaced chivalry. She did not complain, however, having learned long before that his alpha male personality was not likely to change.

They drove in near silence, broken only by the occasional comment or question, but it was a comfortable silence. It was the silence between two friends who knew each other so well that words were unnecessary. Each could judge the other's mood with a single glance, and this insight gave them the ability to comfort each other as no one else could. This closeness was what made them such great partners and allowed them to close more cases than any other team at the FBI.

When they reached the pizza place, Brennan stepped out of the car before Booth could open the door for her. He joined her at the front of the car and led her into the restaurant with a hand at the small of her back. Inside, colorful memorabilia covered the walls so completely that the white paint only shone through in a couple places. The restaurant was lit by dim, flower-shaped light fixtures which hung over each table. Brennan and Booth found a nearby empty table, and they each took a seat on either side. A waitress soon arrived, handing each of them a menu and taking their drink orders. After she left, Booth perused the menu for a moment before deciding what he wanted. Setting the menu on the table, Booth watched as Brennan chose her meal. With a smile, he realized that she wore the same look she adopted when scrutinizing a set of remains.

"What?" Brennan asked, glancing up when she felt his eyes on her.

"Nothing. I was just waiting for you to decide."

"Well, I've decided."

"Good. We can talk then."

"About what?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"The kiss.'

"I already told you, that was a result of-"

"That's bull, and you and I both know it."

"You can't say that. It's perfectly logical that-"

"Screw logic. For once in your life, Bones, stop rationalizing things. I want you to look at me and tell me what you felt about that kiss."

"What I felt has no bearing on the current situation. We're partners, Booth. There's a line. You said so yourself."

"We've been toeing that line for awhile now, Bones."

"Well, we'll just have to be more careful then. Make sure there's no more mistakes like that one in the car."

"That kiss wasn't a mistake, Bones."

"Of course it was. We're partners."

"That doesn't make it a mistake." Without warning, he leaned across the table, bringing his lips to Brennan's. She nearly pulled back; in fact, every nerve cell in her brain screamed at her to pull away, but something kept her lips locked on Booth's. For some reason, the connection simply felt _right_. Logic could not explain her feelings, and this inability confused her. Never before had reason failed her; she felt as if a part of herself was missing. Oddly enough, however, something else had taken reason's place. She imagined that this new part of her brain was what everyone referred to as emotions. Although she had never before believed in these so-called emotions, she could not deny the shiver that traveled down her spine when their lips connected nor the tingling sensation in her mouth. She felt something that logic and reason could not explain, and it frightened her.

Booth saw the fear in Brennan's eyes when they kissed, and he half-expected her to slap him. Fortunately, however, her hands remained safely in her lap. Although stiff at first, Brennan slowly relaxed and even began to kiss Booth back, an action which greatly surprised him. Of course, he was not complaining; in fact, he was greatly enjoying the experience. Brennan was different than all of his previous girlfriends, and her unique style of kissing reflected her personality. Her lips were simultaneously gentle and firm beneath his own, and she refused to completely relinquish control, reflecting her usual dominating personality. Gently, Booth proved her tightly-closed lips with his tongue, asking for entrance. She granted him access, and their tongues dueled for a few moments. Just as with their partnership, neither one came out on top, but they preferred it that way. They were equals.

Eventually, they pulled apart at the same time as if an unspoken agreement had passed between them to do so. "There is no way you can blame that on lack of oxygen," Booth remarked. Brennan's eyes nervously dropped to the silverware in front of her, and she studied her fork intently as if hoping it might suddenly spring to life and tap dance across the table. She was confused—confused about what she felt for Booth and confused about what the future held for them. At the same time, she was scared that Booth would leave her just as everyone else had done. "Temperance, look at me," Booth instructed. His use of her first name immediately caught her attention, and she raised her blue eyes to meet his chocolate brown ones. For some inexplicable reason, her confusion and fear seemed to melt away the moment their eyes met. No matter what happened, he was still Booth, and she was still Brennan. First and foremost, they were partners. She was safe with him, for he would never leave her. They had made a tacit promise long before that they would always be together, for better or for worse.

"Where does this leave us?" Brennan finally inquired.

"Hopefully dating," Booth responded.

"I guess we could try that."

"Good. But just so you know, I'm not a big fan of casual dating. I'd rather be in a serious relationship."

"I've never done well with serious relationships."

"Don't worry. I can teach you."

"Just remember, I'm not a possession."

"Trust me, Bones, I'm well aware of that."


End file.
